


grab him by the baubles

by shier



Category: iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: M/M, copious amounts of shitty costumery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 16:19:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13057629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shier/pseuds/shier
Summary: bobby convinces junhoe that it's the season of giving.





	grab him by the baubles

Bobby slides the flyer over to him during lunch at Yunhyeong's, wearing a bright grin that really spells either _I've done something stupid_ or _I'm about to do something stupid_. "Christmas, we're spending it together right?"

"Maybe," Junhoe says, warily, setting his phone down to squint at the neon-coloured paper. "What's this?"

"The school's pairing up with the hospital for Christmas." Bobby jabs the centre of the paper, where an over-enthusiastic person had punctuated every sentence with exclamation marks. Junhoe's eyes narrow further. "C'mon. It's the season of giving!

"You want _me_ —“ a pause for dramatic effect “—to work with _kids_ ." Junhoe scoffs, shoving the flyer back to Bobby and returns to his phone. "You're right, it's  _not_ the season of suffering."

They've been friends long enough that Junhoe knows what's going to come next: first, the arm around Junhoe's shoulder, as if physical proximity was somehow going to make his resolve weaken (it's not). Then, the excessively pouty expression, as if looking cute as shit was going to make Junhoe give in (it's _definitely_ not). Bobby usually slathers that with a good amount of whining about how everything would be much better if Junhoe were there, and when all else fails— "I'll take you to that movie you’ve been wanting to see... what was it?” Bribery.

“You were going to see it anyway,” Junhoe informs him smilingly, patting his cheek with a hand. “And it’s a masterpiece. A story of love and its—“

“—a story of me taking a nap for 1.5 hours—“

“—and how people can overcome it. Why don’t you have a romantic bone in your body?”

“I do,” Bobby insists, and then looks pointedly down with his brows raised. There’s a split second where Junhoe considers arguing his point, but then he’d just be falling into a trap, and he needs all the ammo he can get his hands on to fight Bobby’s incoming whinging. “C’mon, please. It’ll be fun. I’ll dress up as santa. The kids deserve to be happy too!”

“Are you done spinning the wheel of excuses?” Junhoe asks, expelling air in Bobby’s face in frustration. It’s always like this: Bobby comes up with some hare-brained scheme (the last time had been for the both of them to take a job at the local soft serve store, and they’ve never been allowed back in since The Incident In The Supplies Room) and Junhoe inevitably goes along with him. He blames his traitorous heart and even more traitorous dick. Getting laid on the regular was making him weak. “Alright, fine. But on the conditions that you pick me up,” Junhoe argues, jabbing the sheet where it indicates that the meet-up time is 8 in the fucking morning, “and you wear the santa costume all the way home.”

  
  


/

  
  


Bobby rides in with the sunrise the morning of Junhoe’s event, looking far too reminiscent of humpty dumpty under his helmet.

“Your scooter’s too godamn bright,” Junhoe complains, instead of _your face is too godamn bright_ because he knows Bobby's going to take it as a compliment and that's not at all ideal. Not when he’s here to haul Junhoe’s ass out into the freezing cold morning with nothing to guard his delicate body against the elements except the clothes on his back.

“Aw, good morning to you too,” Bobby chirps, landing a kiss on the corner of Junhoe’s mouth. His lips are warm and his chest is warm and Junhoe has to fight the urge not to lean into it. _Dignity_ , he reminds himself, even though he’s pretty sure it’s something he’s already going to lose today.

“Fuck off,” Junhoe grumbles, snatching the helmet from Bobby’s hands. He looks amused, and Junhoe’s irritation skyrockets alongside something in him that goes molten every time he looks at Bobby’s dumb face. _Fuck off_ , he repeats to himself internally, fixing the helmet over his head and clambering onto the back of the scooter sleepily.

He’s probably never going to admit this aloud, but there’s something magical about speeding down a sleepy street with his arms tucked around Bobby’s waist and his face pressed into Bobby’s scarf. It makes him feel stupidly content, dissipating the thunderclouds that had settled over him the second he’d woken up. Maybe today was going to be a good day, after all.

That illusion of goodwill shattered the second he steps into the compound hand in hand with Bobby. He sees Hanbin first, and turns to glare at Bobby.

“I told you he was coming?” Bobby tries, sheepishly, grinning in the way that made his front teeth jut out.

“You said the guys were coming,” Junhoe accuses, though he’s too tired to actually uphold a full-fledged argument. Maybe making his eyebrows do the hard work would be enough to telegraph how much he wants to beat Bobby in with his shoe. “He’s not one of us.”

“C’mon, they needed all the volunteers they would get. And _some people_ complain about getting dragged out when it’s freezing cold.” Bobby shoots him a pointed look. “At least Hanbin was willing.”

“So on top of the children,” Junhoe recounts, dropping Bobby’s hand in utter disgust, though it only has the effect of Bobby throwing an arm around his shoulders (an effect greatly diminished by the fact that Junhoe’s outgrown him), “I have to spend time with a baby?”

“Don’t be mean,” Bobby whines, sounding far too much like Junhoe’s mom for comfort. They’ve both been hanging out too much, Junhoe thinks, and it’s best to separate them before his mom tries to adopt Bobby. “You don’t have to spend time with him. You guys just gotta... exist in the same space. Is that okay? For the starving children?”

“Don’t be melodramatic,” Junhoe returns, and then tugs Bobby’s hand in the other direction, before Hanbin can spot them entering.

  


 

/

  
  


He was wrong: the worst part of his day isn’t Kim Hanbin. The worst part of his day is that while Bobby’s been assigned to wear a furry red hair and a furry red coat and red goddamn leggings (he’d tried to show Junhoe his ass at least five times, now, but Junhoe’s too seething mad to even acknowledge his existence), Junhoe had somehow become the designated Christmas tree.

“This is a joke,” Junhoe says, glancing around to check if anyone’s laughing when Yunhyeong hands him the costume, “right?”

“Nope!” Jinhwan says cheerily. He’s dressed up in green, auburn fringe jutting out from under the rim and it’s so fucking unfair that he looks cute even in tacky elf ears. “Chanwoo was supposed to be the tree but he’s off helping someone patch a ceiling. Or maybe it was a window?”

“Your brother is a filthy liar,” Junhoe complains loudly to Yunhyeong. “Can’t we wait until he gets back? I’ll... I don't know—“ he makes a wild grab for one of the shiny baubles hanging off the tree and hooks it over the pocket of his hoodie “—I’ll give these out.” No one buys his miserable attempt to get out of this already trying day, and before he can offer his next suggestion ( _I’ll buy everyone dinner if I don’t have to wear this_ ), Bobby’s already zipping him into the suit.

“These tights better be new,” Junhoe complains to no one in particular, feeling like a particularly petulant kid who’d been given the shittiest seat in the car.

“But you look cute,” Jinhwan tells him. He has his phone in hand, held up in a way that tells Junhoe that there’s going to be pictorial evidence that no one’s going to let him forget any time soon.

“Very cute,” Bobby echoes, a little too fucking close to Junhoe’s face for comfort. He finds himself wondering if Bobby’d fit under the hem of the costume that seemed to function like a very spongy dress. And then he reminds himself that he’s supposed to be mad because he wouldn’t be here if Bobby hadn’t felt compelled to rescue the poor orphans, or what have you— now that he thinks about it, it’s a good thing he hasn’t said that aloud.

“Fuck off,” Junhoe says, for the second time that day, but allows Bobby to adjust the baubles swinging to and fro on the front of his chest. Some of them were unevenly coated in glitter and he has to bite the urge to question which ninety-nine cents store the cheapskates had purchased all their goods from.

And though Junhoe's nowhere near pleased with his costume of choice, the kids were drawn to him like demented Winnie the Poohs to honey, crowding and yapping at his ankles so he can't take two steps without risking squashing one of them. They're small with big beady eyes vaguely reminiscent of Chanwoo, but that only makes Junhoe's temper rise even higher.

"Does it hurt?" one of the clamouring monsters ask, though Junhoe's too distracted trying to figure out who the _hell_ had palmed pine fresh ass to answer. "Does it hurt turning into a tree, I mean, because mister you don't look happy."

Somewhere behind him, Junhoe hears Hanbin's spluttering laugh from where he was manning Santa's sleigh. So much for just _existing in the same space_. If looks could kill, Junhoe thinks murderously, trying to plaster on some kind of genial expression, then Hanbin would be flayed and quartered and roasted over an open fire.

"Alright kids," Donghyuk declares, looking genuinely angelic in his robes and fake halo, "let's not give the tree more stress. His needles are going to fall off."

"Needles?" someone asks, as Donghyuk magically picks three kids up simultaneously and leads the rest away like the pied piper of nursery school. And then there was one. A snotty, bug-eyed kid, obsessed with a yellow bauble hanging close to Junhoe's knee.

"Hey," Junhoe starts, trying for a friendly, vaguely Donghyukesque tone, "if I give this to you, will you go away?"

"Why aren't there any presents?" the kid asks instead. He sticks a grubby hand under Junhoe's skirt and makes a grab for Junhoe's _thigh_. And then some."Is this the present?"

"Oh my god," Junhoe breathes out, trying not to automatically fling the kid aside. But Santa in his red-shirted, grinning glory, somehow manages to locate Junhoe's shoulders under all that padding to sling an arm around him.

"Did you know," Bobby says, extricating the kids hand cheerily, "that this Christmas tree is taken? It's _mine_."

"What do you mean _it_?" Junhoe demands as the kid's face screws up uglily and his whole body shakes with wracking cries. Dramatic shit. He watches Bobby sink to the ground, hands skittering over the kid's frame, making embarrassing cooing noises until he quiets down and starts sucking at his thumb, staring balefully up at Junhoe.

"Say something," Bobby urges with a nudge to his side.

"... Merry Christmas," Junhoe blurts out. Behind him, Hanbin's laughter grows louder, shriller, like a particularly irritating bird. "And have a happy new year."

  


 

/

  
  


"How are you this _horrible_ with kids?" Bobby asks, after they abscond to the fire escape with their freebie lunches. It's a nasty, goopy sort of rice, and some kind of bulgolgi that doesn't have the texture of beef, but Junhoe scarfs it down anyway.

"I'm not," Junhoe defends. It's snowing lightly, and when Junhoe stretches his legs out, the snowflakes pepper his tights like he has a chronic case of leg dandruff. "I deal with _you_ every day."

Bobby makes a sound between an indignant snort and laughter and Junhoe glances over to see him spasm backwards, hands planted behind him for support. He's kind of cute like this, with the ridiculous santa hat slumped sadly over his head and slip and sliding over his forehead.

"You look stupid," Junhoe informs him, but he doesn't protest when Bobby leans in close, sneaks one freezing hand up his foam tree dress, and waggles his eyebrows in Bobby's face. "Like really fucking stupid."

"Then you should take pity on me," Bobby points out. He puckers his lips, makes disgusting kissy noises that Junhoe should really throw him over the railing for. He may be bulky from working out so godamn much, but Junhoe has the element of surprise. "Gimme a kiss, sugar."

"Dear santa," Junhoe intones loudly, keeping a little space between them still. Bobby shouldn't be rewarded for shitty behaviour. "This year I'd like a normal boyfriend, thank you. Or a dog, I'm not picky."

"You don't even like animals," Bobby complains, his puckered lips curving into a stupid pout.

"Yeah, well," Junhoe argues half-heartedly, because Bobby's warm against him and his nose is a little red and Junhoe had spent last Christmas horribly alone while Bobby was off gallivanting at some party or the other, "at least a dog won't make me wear _this_."

"I think you look hot." The worst part is Junhoe _knows_ he's sincere about this. Under the layers of baubles and plastic and foam and irritation, his stomach flips a little. "And I'm _eternally grateful_ that you decided to come along. Best present ever."

"Good," Junhoe mumbles, trying to pretend he hadn't noticed that Bobby's arms were bracketing him and his costume was just one size too small, stretching over his biceps in a way that made Junhoe gulp. "I didn't get you anything." Bobby grins in that way of his that suggests that he's thinking that Junhoe looks _cute_ or _adorable_ or some other variation thereof and Junhoe closes his eyes, almost automatically, as Bobby's lips finds his.

  


 

/

  
  


The yellow scooter's covered in a small mound of snow by the time the sun has set and they're allowed to leave. Junhoe gets to keep the costume and he's so out of it that he doesn't bother to change even when he's sure that there are parts of him covered in snot and tears. At least it was pretty nice towards the end, when they singled him out to sing some hymns. A couple of volunteers had wiped their eyes, and that's as close to a religious experience Junhoe'll ever have.

"Wanna stop for some dinner?" Bobby asks, brushing the snow off so he can swing a leg over the seat. Junhoe grunts a yes and climbs in after him. They earn stares all the way out on the roads, though it's not hard to guess why—he'd removed the baubles but he still stuck out like a very green sore thumb, and Junhoe dazedly contemplates flipping the gaping strangers the bird, but opts to bury his face in the fuzzy collar of Bobby's santa jacket instead.

They pull up at a roadside stall and buy enough soup that Junhoe's going to regret the bumpy ride home. But Bobby's warm against his side when they find a spot on a bench, watching the fairy lights wrapped around the stall twinkle sharply in the misty air. In the distance, Junhoe can hear a drunken, or possibly just terrible, rendition of _White Christmas_. It can't be set up any more perfect than this.

"Can you close your eyes for one second?" Junhoe asks, watching Bobby stuff the last kimbab in his mouth like a disappearing act.

"Shoving snow into santa's suit gets you coal for Christmas, if you didn't know," Bobby says, but his eyes are already squeezed shut obediently. Junhoe tries to be quiet as he tries to extricate his pants from the tangle of clothes stuffed into Bobby's scooter, but he finally manages to pull out a little velvet box.

He's pictured this moment a hundred times over the past few weeks, sometimes he had candles, sometimes he had a boombox, but he's a little too tongue-tied for grandiose romantic speeches, and ends up nervously shoving it against Bobby's chest instead, mumbling a, "Merry Christmas."

He'd asked his sister about the most romantic gesture her boyfriend of five years had ever pulled off, and Junhoe'd honestly tuned out 95% of whatever she's said, which left him with a necklace, engraved professionally (for a steep price) with their initials under the stone pendant. The sound that Bobby makes when he lays eyes on the silver, glinting thing is music to Junhoe's ears.

"I thought you said you didn't get me anything," Bobby accuses, though his voice is shaking a little, in a way that tells Junhoe that he's made the right choice after all.

"It _is_ the season of giving," Junhoe points out. And then Bobby pounces, slobbers all over his face with his kimchi-breath, and Junhoe _knows_ he's made the right choice. Something warm spreads across his stomach, warmer than the soup he'd just finished, warmer than helping orphaned children find joy this Christmas. Maybe he should feel a little guilty for being so godamn selfish, but he loops the necklace around Bobby's neck and clasps it on, and the giddy look on Bobby's face as he fiddles with it absent-mindedly cements the notion that he doesn't give a shit.

  


 

———

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i. art by [gerti](http://twitter.com/ikonout), as always, and without whom this gross ass fic wouldn't exist.  
> ii. this was originally supposed to be published in 2016 but better late than never???  
> iii. happy holidays! wherever you are and whatever you're doing, i hope it's a good one.


End file.
